Glass And Blood
by Nadja Lee
Summary: Rogue is very depressed after Logan left. Warning: Deals with deep depression and cutting.
1. Glass And Blood

Glass And Blood

By Nadja Lee 26/07/02

English is not my native language. Please forgive me my mistakes.

Disclaimer: "X-men" and all the characters here belong to Marvel, 20 Century Fox and I intend no infringement, this is a piece of amateur fan fiction, and I make no money of it.

Only the original idea contained within this work is the property of the author. Please do not copy this story to any website or archive without permission of the author.

Timeline: Set in the movie universe. After the movie.

Universe: Set in the movie universe.

Romance: Rogue/Logan

Summary: Rogue is depressed after Logan left. 

Archiving: Want, ASK, take, have.

Feedback: Yes, please. My e-mail address is nadjalee2000@hotmail.com

Rating: R

Warning: May contain disturbing elements.

Sequel/series: None.

Thanks so much to Karen for the Beta. You are, as always, the best. Thanks so much!

***

Have you ever wondered how it would be like to do it? Have you ever held a piece of broken glass to your wrist and wondered what it would be like to cut? Wondered if you'd regret it, wondered how it'd feel…wondered how others would feel? Have you then chickened out and cut somewhere 'safe' instead…a finger, your arm, legs….often a place you can hide…never the face or on top of the hands…?

I have. Before I would just hold the glass close to my skin and let it gently touch, not breaking skin. Always wondering how it'd be; what would happen, but never crossing that line and actually drawing blood. 

It may sound strange but it helps….in a way. When things get so confusing and your mind feels like it's about to explode and you're left in the middle with nowhere to go and a desire to just scream and never stop…..

It's a feeling; it's a mix of feelings. It's loneliness, sadness, abandonment, a feeling of not belonging, of doing everything wrong…. it's just being down and depressed. You can't say when it'll come**,** just suddenly it's there like a shadow made by the sun. Suddenly you feel like crying, fighting, screaming…and dying. Just something. Suddenly it feels like everything is spinning out of control and about to explode. Everything feels like it's dying…my head feels like it's going to explode. I've always suffered from severe headaches, but they always seem so much worse at times like these and they make thinking so hard to do. I just feel like doing something to ease the indescribable pain within…so I cut just a little slice in my finger…it's just a small one…..it draws blood. It has never done that before. It's fascinating in a weird way to follow the drops of blood as they run down my hand. It's just a small cut but it still bleeds a lot. I must have sat alone in my room for some time because suddenly someone calls me and interrupts my thoughts. I'm torn between wanting them to see the cut I've made and wanting to hide it. In the end I just let it be and wonder if anyone notices. I leave the piece of glass in my room.

I didn't always feel like this. As a girl I never got depressed. Things were good and I never had a care in the world. Then suddenly everything changed. In a heartbeat I was without a home and without a family, left on my own for the first time ever. It was terrifying and it was during those long, lonely and cold months my mind became a dark place. I began to wonder too much about everything. Things like, is this all my fault? Is this God's punishment? Am I going crazy? I even got angry with myself for being sad over what I had lost. After all so many people around the world starve, get tortured, wrongfully imprisoned, raped, ignored, used, abused and killed. I shouldn't complain; I was lucky, I truly was. Yet I didn't fell lucky.

Everything changed when I met him. Big, broad-shouldered…a handsome prince with manners and the style of a fighter. How could I not fall in love? He saved me and took care of me. He promised that he would. I guess he just didn't think he would have to protect me from myself.

He left. He left me. It should be all right. I'm safe and taken care off, and I guess I'm also loved here. But ever since he left things have gone downhill. Nothing amuses me anymore, nothing holds my interest. I'm torn, lost and alone. I don't want to be alone, yet I always walk alone and keep to myself. I'm depressed but mad at myself for being so because now I have even more reason than before not to be…I'm so confused and lost. My mind is a conflicted and confusing mix even I can't sort out anymore…I wonder if I ever could.

I feel like no one understands me. I just feel like sitting alone and feeling sorry for myself…crying, tears on my cheeks, a sad song on the radio and a piece of glass in my hand. Words can never explain how I feel and no one would understand…Maybe I don't want them to. Don't I want to feel better? Am I crazy? Am I lost forever?

I should be happy….but I'm not.

I feel so lost…so alone. I can't explain what I feel. All the colors in my mind bled into one, my head hurts with a steady dull pain…I think I have tears on my cheeks, but I'm not sure.

So many images play before my eyes as again I sit in my room and take up the piece of glass in my hand. No one noticed the small cut I had made earlier. Maybe I didn't want them to…maybe I did need them to. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.

Having already crossed the line, having already drawn blood once it's not hard to stare in fascination as I put the glass to the skin inside my palm and draw a line, biting my teeth together over the pain, but the physical pain is welcomed because as long as I feel it I can't feel the indescribable pain within me. I wait a little and then I see the small drops of blood peek forth from the wound and begin to run. I'm strangely content at that moment; I don't feel any pain within me nor any pain over the cut…my mind is a blank and I'm….not happy but not sad either. I just am. 

And I'm left to wonder…..is that what death is like?

The End


	2. Shattered Glass And Dried Blood

Shattered Glass And Dried Blood

By Nadja Lee 27/07/02

English is not my native language. Please forgive me my mistakes.

Disclaimer: "X-men" and all the characters here belong to Marvel, 20 Century Fox and I intend no infringement, this is a piece of amateur fan fiction, and I make no money of it. Also the movie "Black Hawk Down" doesn't belong to me but the moviemakers, writers, film company and others. 

Only the original idea contained within this work is the property of the author. Please do not copy this story to any website or archive without permission of the author.

Timeline: Set in the movie universe. After the movie.

Universe: Set in the movie universe.

Romance: Rogue/Logan

Summary: Rogue is still depressed after Logan left but is now forced to try and pick up the pieces. 

Archiving: Want, ASK, take, have.

Feedback: Yes, please. My e-mail address is nadjalee2000@hotmail.com

Rating: R

Warning: May contain disturbing elements.

Sequel/series: Sequel/comparison to "Glass And Blood"

Author's notes: There's no excuse for this piece but that I was depressed again *shrug*

Thanks so much to J. Marie T. for the Beta!

*                                   *                                          *

There's something almost hypnotic about glass. It's so light yet deadly, it's there yet it isn't, it's a wall between inside and out yet it's transparent. 

Knifes are fascinating in a different way; they're more solid, hard and impersonal. When I handle a knife I always have to let it run over my open palm to see if it's sharp enough to draw blood but it's not the same as with glass…..I like glass better.

When I sit alone with a broken piece of glass in my hand and let it cut, it's like there's nothing else in the world, and at that moment I'm almost at peace. It's a bit like music; I need music to everything I do. I can't imagine living without music. I can get lost in the sound, sing to the lyrics….for a few minutes get totally lost in nothing as my mind becomes a blank. What kind of music people listen to says so much about a person and if people would listen, it could tell a whole life story. When I'm happy I hear happy and fast music, when I'm sad I hear slow and depressing songs….I always cut to such songs. Lately the score to the movie "Black Hawk Down" has me in tears every time and whenever I hear it I search for a piece of glass….I almost panic if I can't get a hold of one at the moment sensations and images run through me.

When I cut the first time it was something I had to do, I couldn't stop. I don't cut to kill, few people do. I cut to escape, to say something…because everything is spinning around, everything is so confusing and painful and I feel so lost and alone….I just have to do it. It's different things that trigger it; a hard day, harsh words.... Feelings and thoughts...memories. The good memories hurt more than the bad ones do.

I didn't stop to think about what would happen the day after. I only cut inside my palms; hidden yet visible if anyone cares enough to look closely. I didn't consider that cuts inside your hands stings every time you wash your hands, every time you wash plates, every time you put your hand down on something wet or dirty. I don't like that. It's not the pain I seek…not when the moment has passed. Afterwards I just want to forget about it, at least for a while. When I first cut I thought the scars would become visible, but I see now as the old ones have healed that they fade and blend into the natural lines inside my palms. Something in me is happy about it yet something in me wanted clear scars…obvious ones. I'm as confused on this matter as everything else. I feel embarrassed about cutting yet proud at the same time, I want people to see it yet I don't, I want people to know yet I don't….I'm not sure what I want.

Sometimes I just feel so tired, my head hurts, my vision is blurred and my mind is spinning out of control. I'm not sure what to make of anything and in the end I do nothing. It is like anger without the power, without the energy. 

I feel like the shattered and broken piece of glass I hold in my hand; broken, lost, alone, confused, strained….no longer complete or whole.

I know I shouldn't do it, I know it's wrong….but I need to. I keep the broken piece of glass…at least for now. Maybe some day in the future I will be able to put it away but not yet, not now. Right now I need it to keep me sane.

The End


End file.
